


Little Lady Wolf

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:23:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small AU one shot. Sansa is the young leader of a gang who hunts down her enemies with the help of her faithful bodyguard, Sandor Clegane.</p>
<p>
  <em>And as she sunk to the floor, Sandor saw the wolf coat slip off her skinny shoulders to reveal the ivory skin beneath.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lady Wolf

The room was dark, lit only by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. She sat slumped over her desk, one hand lost in her long, wild hair and the other holding a lit cigarette, the smoke swirling through the air. Sandor stood in the shadows by the door; he did not want to enter the room, to speak the words he knew he must.

She looked so old in that moment; wearing that tight black dress, clothing herself in years of age that were not hers yet. But it did the job; her associates saw a strong young woman with a taste for revenge and not the exhausted mind of a lost young girl. They called her Little Lady Wolf for the way she snarled with those pretty white teeth and the way she hunted her enemies with a certain curious elegance. Her forget me not eyes were tired and wise; they should not belong to a girl of her age. The kid had grown up too fast, that was for sure, but she had to lest it swallow her whole.

_“Strong arms rule this world,”_ he had told her one day. 

She had looked slowly up at him with a blank face. _“I could be strong,”_ she had murmured back.

Her entire family were either dead at the hands of other gangs or missing so, with the news Sandor was slowly dragging up to his lips, it was only her left. But he would not tell her yet. He wanted to give her a couple more minutes before yet another flower was added to the funeral reef of her family’s name.

He could see she was tired. He saw it in her slow movements as though everything was a struggle, he saw it in the way he often caught her staring into space, haunted by the creeping nightmares of her fragile mind. Yes, the loyal dog at her side saw all.

He knew she cried at night.

The girl snuffed her cigarette out onto the desk and picked up her lighter, looking like a child with too many toys to play with. She flicked it on and off, staring deep into the flames, red lips slightly apart. 

“Something on your mind?” She asked, her voice bored.

Sandor walked towards the desk. “It’s your brother, Robb.”

Her eyes cleared and she looked up at him, alert.

Sandor returned her gaze sadly. “He's dead, little bird.”

She clenched her jaw and looked at the wall, pushing her emotions down as she kept her chin from quivering.

“Who?” She asked, her voice strained.

Sandor took a deep breath, preparing himself. “The Lannisters.”

The girl's mask dropped suddenly and quickly, misery clear on her face; a look she wore so well. She opened her mouth to say something but all that tumbled out was a choked sob. She dragged herself up from the desk and used it to support herself as she came to stand in front of it, looking like Bambi with her skinny legs shaking in those high heels.

Her breaths became ragged and heavy as tears fell down her porcelain cheeks. And as she sunk to the floor, Sandor saw the wolf coat slip off her skinny shoulders to reveal the ivory skin beneath. He gave a moment for her to wade through her grief alone before he knelt beside her, pulling her into his embrace. The girl crawled towards him, desperate to feel safe, to seek sanctuary in the arms she knew so well and she clung to Sandor like a small prayer.

Sandor knew, as he cradled her to his chest, that he would keep her safe. 

That no matter how far or hard she fell, he would follow her. 

He would follow those dancing auburn locks of hair into the roaring flames of hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Something that fascinates me about ASOIAF is the recurring theme of identity and I wanted to play around with it. I wanted to reflect Sansa's loss of identity by not using her name.


End file.
